


You're Not Alone In Your Damage

by Radenierafire



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It's not a nice one, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Past Abuse, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:48:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23752615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radenierafire/pseuds/Radenierafire
Summary: Geralt notices that Jaskier's skin is not as smooth and flawless as he often brags it to be. Instead, there is more than one place where the tissue is red and angry. He can't imagine why Jaskier would possibly have scars. He can't fathom why he hasn't noticed them sooner.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 51
Kudos: 902
Collections: Dandelion





	You're Not Alone In Your Damage

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one shot, please don't get attached. (But please feel free to leave comments . . . there is a possibility that if this receives love it will grow.)
> 
> This fic definitely mentions physical abuse, and then some.  
> (I do not know how to properly tag trigger warnings though, so please, please, please, if someone reads this and can give me advice on what to do with it to make sure no one is surprised. I will more than happily get that in the tags or notes or something!)

The bard was sleeping. Geralt struggled to remind himself that his bard was sleeping. He stared at Jaskier who’s breathing was deep and even. Who slept still and deep, and looked so peaceful against Geralt’s chest. Yes, his bard was sleeping, and this was the only reason that Geralt refused to ask just yet. 

Though the urge in him was quite strong. 

He fought it. 

He let Jaskier sleep.

Instead, he slowly let his hand drift over the warm skin, exposed to the air of the room after their activities earlier that night. The blanket had been haphazardly pulled over their waists, not doing much to keep them warm, but covering them enough that if they had unwanted visitors they would not be completely exposed. Jaskier had learned long ago that people come knocking for Geralt at the most bizzare of times. So, he’d covered them just enough. However, the bard's back was still bare. With his chest pressed against Geralt’s chest, the expanse was quite visible to Geralt. Geralt, who was seeing the large scar that covered the bard’s back for the first time. Geralt, who had gently traced the scar that led from Jaskier’s left hip up to his right shoulder. He traced it and found it difficult not to wake him and ask where it came from. 

It was no small scar. Those Geralt had seen scattered over Jaskier's hands and arms. Since they’d started travelling together, Jaskier had been bumped around and scratched a few times. He was bound to have his own marks. Reminders of their adventures. This looked nothing like those accidental scrapes though. This was deep. Whenever it was put there, Jaskier would have been incredibly wounded. It looked very deliberate. It looked as though someone intended very much to wound Jaskier. 

It made Geralt’s blood boil. He wished nothing more than to demand a name. He wanted to find whoever was responsible and rip their arms from their body-

Alright. Perhaps he was feeling a bit less than his usual control. It was not every night he confessed his love and bed the subject of it. Geralt tried to keep that in mind. He tried to reason with his strong sentiments and remind himself that his temper could be dangerous not only to himself but also to Jaskier. He supposed it was hypocritical to be so angry at someone who hurt Jaskier that he himself did the same. So he breathed slowly, tried to relax himself and find splashes of patience in the waves of anger.

He forced himself to be calm, and gently ran a hand through Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier shifted in his sleep and Geralt pulled him slightly closer. The bard was practically on his chest and in an attempt to relax and focus on the good between them, Geralt gently let his hands roam over the soft skin available. 

He found another scar.

This one was more faint, he is not surprised he missed it when they first undressed, though he chastises himself for not having seen it after that. It flicks over Jaskier’s collarbone, looks a bit like the mark a whip would leave. Or perhaps a belt. Geralt tries to reason that this may be something Jaskier is into. He would much rather feel jealousy than this anger. However, at such a vulnerable place- so close to Jaskier’s neck. This mark was not left intimately, but out of frustration. An impulse out of control, snapping a rope of some kind against the skin in hopes that it would break. A violent display of power, not a sensual one of dominance. 

Geralt was trying still. To keep his calm.

Gently, tucking Jaskier’s head beneath his chin, Geralt turns his attention to Jaskier’s hands. He hums deep in his chest, gently lifting one hand and threading their fingers together. He had always admired what Jaskier could do with his hands. His playing was quite incredible. Though tonight, Geralt realized in full that there was much more the bard could use them for. As he held the nimble fingers he- frowned. He couldn’t help it. Though long and graceful in movement, as Geralt held them close he felt the ridges and bumps in the small bones of the bard’s hand. He felt his brow furrow. 

How had Jaskier managed to break several of his fingers?

Had this happened while they were traveling together, or had this always been an ailment Jaskier had had since they’d met?

How did it take him so long to notice all of these things?

How had they been travelling together for so long and Geralt had never seen Jaskier undressed before?

How was there so much about the bard that Geralt didn’t know about?

Jaskier was asleep, but Geralt didn’t find it possible to join him that night. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The fire crackled, and Jaskier looked irreverent as he played beside it. He was leaning back against a log meant to be sat on. From where he was, he could play his lute and look up to Roach, singing the horse a ballad about two star crossed horse lovers. Each owned by a different traveller, they were destined only to see one another when briefly visiting the same towns. He sang that it was rare to meet and tragic to leave. He composed the beautiful song on the spot. 

Well . . . beautiful was the word that Geralt knew Jaskier would use to describe the song. Though Geralt had come to admit an affection for the bard’s music, this song simply wasn’t very good. It did make Geralt smile though. He found it difficult nowadays not to allow himself to enjoy when his bard was being silly. Their lives were often so dark and tremulous, that such comedy and joy was a privilege to witness. 

So, he watched the scene with uncommon contentment, cooking their dinner over the fire. He watched Jaskier crane his neck to make dramatic faces at the horse. He watched as Roach all but rolled her eyes at the music and turned so her ass was the only thing Jaskier was singing to. He watched Jaskier’s eyes close as he lost himself in his own song. He watched knowing that the song had long since stopped being about two horses, but about lovers with difficulty staying together. He watched Jaskier’s hands fly over the strings of his lute-

His hands which probably ached as he played. Geralt had to stop watching. He looked down, and returned his attention to the meat he was cooking over the fire. The anger tried to claw its way back into his stomach and up towards his heart.

“Dandelion?” Geralt asked gruffly.

Jaskier stopped playing music quite abruptly and turned his attention to Geralt. He smiled fondly, both at the witcher and at his use of the nickname. “Yes, dear?” He asked, only slightly teasing Geralt for the sentiment.

Geralt rolled his eyes, biting his tongue to withhold a sarcastic comment about Jaskier ruining the moments he was constantly asking Geralt for. After all, taunting Geralt for being soft would only lead to encouraging his difficulty doing so. Though he wanted to quip that remark, sarcasm probably would not help establish the kinda conversation Geralt was hoping to instigate. A conversation where- he could hopefully ask a simple question and Jaskier could feel comfortable enough to explain it all with minimal speaking on Geralt’s behalf. “I- wanted to talk . . . to you. About some . . . things.” 

Jaskier chuckled and set his lute to the side, pushing himself up to sit on the log he’d leaned against. “Then you’re halfway there, what with the talking to me part.” He winked. Though, he did take notice of Geralt’s tone. His expression softened and he contemplated walking around to sit beside the witcher.

“They aren’t . . . Pleasant. Or- I don’t suspect they will be . . .” He admitted. 

Jaskier was suddenly grateful for the distance between them. He nodded some, “If this is your awkward way of saying you regret what happened between us-” He began.

Geralt quickly shut that shit down. “No. Not even in the slightest. I’ve been wanting to do that for a while and- at the very least our desires are very agreeable in bed.” He said evenly. 

Jaskier, despite his usual confidence, blushed slightly and nodded. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. I would most definitely enjoy it if that could happen again.” He said honestly.

Geralt smiled some at the soft and happy look on Jaskier’s face. It felt good to know that he was partially responsible for it. It felt better to know that he could put it there by sharing such a wonderful and intimate act with the bard. Thoughts of his intimacy with the bard did distract him for a few moments. It hit him that sex was not something he’d considered soft and intimate before Jaskier, but that the moment he realized his sentiments he knew that it would be different. He knew that he wanted to be gentle with Jaskier. Well. Most of the time. 

He needed to remember the conversation they needed to have though. He would eventually share those sentiments with Jaskier, knowing that he was quite fond of such affection. Right now though, he could not lose his train of thought. He took a slow breath. “I am glad . . . Truly.” He admitted and looked at Jaskier very carefully. “There were- some things that I noticed . . . afterwards, though,” he said slowly. 

Jaskier arched his brow ever so slightly and nodded a silent ‘continue?’ to Geralt.

“Well . . . to begin with- I realized that . . . before last night . . . I’ve never seen you bare?” He explained, trying to ease into it.

“Okay?” The bard laughed quietly, “Can you blame me? I’m sure a level of bodily insecurity is expected when around a man who looks like you do.”

Geralt frowned ever so slightly, that would be yet another thing to unpack. Not yet though. They had to address this before it drove Geralt mad. “I think you’re beautiful, and hope you don’t feel the need to hide yourself from me.” He said evenly, making it clear that he’d like to acknowledge that. Before Jaskier could argue, he shook his head and then cleared his throat. “In fact . . . I wouldn’t mind- if you were to . . . share more of yourself with me?” He tried.

“There’s not much of me left that you haven’t seen,” Jaskier said fondly. “And lord knows I’ve seen the whole of you.” He commented, letting his eyes rake suggestively over the witcher’s still very clothed body. 

A segue, finally. If Geralt could just guide Jaskier in the right direction. “Right. You have. You’ve seen me bare many times. And often- when you do . . . you look at my scars.” He commented.

The younger man tilted his head ever so slightly, clearly confused by the guidance. He rubbed the back of his neck, before slouching some and frowning. “Oh,” He said, as though in realization. “I am sorry. I find them quite astonishing. The way in which each one is a trial you’ve faced. Or a triumph you’ve had. If it bothers you when I look I will not. I was under the impression it was more the questions that bothered you, when people asked you where they came from. Which is why I’d never asked- I figured asking for your stories was enough nuisance.”

Geralt hummed gently, he wished he could hold Jaskier’s hands gently and encourage him not to be so nervous. “It does bother me to be asked such invasive questions. When they are asked by strangers. It bothers me when the scars are the only part of me people see, I grow tired of having to justify them. It- feels like I have to justify myself. Prove that I too have the right to exist-” He admitted and then paused at the realization. He wasn’t sure he’d ever figured that out for himself, let alone admitted it to another person. How had Jaskier pulled that out of him? He’d started this conversation with a singular intent, and now he was opening up about the way perceptions influence people’s behavior toward him . . . ? He paused, trying once again to guide the conversation. “Would you? Be bothered if someone asked about your scars?” He inquired.

Jaskier thought about it and then shrugged ever so slightly, “I can’t imagine why anyone would. I am quite fortunate enough to be able to hide them from prying eyes. Not to mention, there’s really only one scar that people have noticed-” He started and then finally put it all together. As he figured out where this conversation was meant to go, “You noticed,” He commented. Geralt nodded, and Jaskier regarded him carefully. “You are curious. How could someone like me have scars?”

“Yes . . .” He said and then paused, “Wait- no.”

With a slightly proud toss of his head, Jaskier grit his teeth. “I may not fight monsters Geralt, but I’ve not always been treated delicately. You might think me defenseless, but I have had occasion to learn how to defend myself.” He said.

Fuck. Not a great way to start off the conversation, and certainly not feelings Geralt wanted surrounding the beginning of their relationship. “I don’t think you’re defenseless. You haven’t been properly trained, but that’s not on you. I can’t imagine a bard often has reason to train-” He tried to explain. 

Jaskier looked at Geralt funny. “Perhaps not, but nobles train as they grow.” He commented. 

Geralt paused and looked at Jaskier carefully. “I’m sorry?”

“Geralt?”

The witcher paused, “Hmm.”

“You do know that I’m a viscount, don’t you?” He asked curiously. 

“You’re a viscount?” Geralt retorted incredulously. Jaskier couldn’t hold back the slight laugh and nod.

“I am.” He admitted.

Geralt stared at him and shook his head, “Then why did you become a bard?” He asked. He prayed that he didn’t come across as ungrateful, he had long since stopped feeling any sort of irritation with his companion. However, that shift in lifestyles didn’t quite make sense to the witcher.

Jaskier smiled sadly and shifted in his seat. “Things were not often- agreeable at home. I’m sure you can tell that I don’t quite fit naturally in a setting of nobles and royalty. Add to that my desire to pursue music? And music I wanted to play, none of that classical shit that pretentious assholes listen to . . . Well. It didn’t exactly warrant me a happily ever after in the courts. My father was not exactly proud of who I was turning myself into. So. I was asked to either change, or leave. I decided I’d rather lose my wealthy lifestyle, than myself.” He explained. 

Things slowly started to piece together for the witcher. His expression hardened. “Is that where they come from?” He asked quietly, his tone very suddenly dangerous. 

Jaskier crossed his legs and watched Geralt carefully. “Which ones are you referring to?” He asked cautiously. 

Geralt’s eyes narrowed, not exactly thrilled with that qualifier. “All of them. Any of them. The one on your shoulder?”

Jaskier nodded softly and lifted his hand up to his collarbone mindlessly. “Just- a loss of control. Holding the light chain he used to tie up his horse. Buttercup had a nasty habit of chewing through the ropes we used on her. So. Chain it was.” He explained. 

Geralt growled quietly. “That would break your shoulder.” He commented.

Jaskier cleared his throat. “Just this bone,” he said, gesturing where the scar was. “He was angry, but he was smart.” He hummed quietly, seeming uncomfortably blase about this all. Geralt’s eyes dropped to Jaskier’s hands, and the bard smiled. “Ah yes. When I picked up my first lute. He thought perhaps- if I couldn’t play, it would stop me.” 

The witcher had to stand, taking a few steps away from the fire to regain his own anger control. He shook his head, “He broke your hands.” He said, his own hands balled tightly into fists. So tightly he could feel his dull nails digging into his palms. 

Jaskier nodded.

Despite already struggling to control himself, Geralt had to ask. “And the one on your back?”

He smiled sadly. “It’s- two. Actually.” He said.

Geralt stiffened, “What?”

Jaskier nodded slowly and cleared his throat. “I was attacked. I could not defend myself. It resulted in . . . my corruption. And a knife mark up to the center of my back.” He said. Geralt was still as a stone, and Jaskier wasn’t even sure that the witcher was breathing. “But it was a man.” He said, voice growing hoarse. “And my father walked in on it . . . He did not realize that I was- unwilling. Not that I am unwilling to be with a man, as you obviously know. Simply that the interaction he walked in on was not-” He breathed and cut himself off, shaking his head. “My father finished the mark up my back to- prove a point, I suppose. I hardly recall what the point was supposed to be though.” He admitted. 

Geralt was growling. 

It took a moment to register, after Jaskier had stopped speaking. A few moments into the silence however, he realized that his companion was standing rigid, but a low, angry growl was rumbling in his chest. Jaskier swallowed hard, “Geralt . . . this is all in the past. It’s been a decade since I’ve lived in that household. I’ve lived an entire life with you since then. I’m not such a scared young boy anymore.” He said quietly.

Geralt slowly turned and looked at Jaskier. “You did not tell me.” He commented quietly. 

“You didn’t ask.” Jaskier said simply. “And I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Geralt slowly pushed his anger down and stalked over to the log beside Jaskier carefully. He sat down beside the bard and took a few deep breaths. “If- you are comfortable. These are things- I would like to know about you.” He commented quietly. “Not just- because of last night, but because- You are my friend. I wish to know about you. To know you.” He said. 

Jaskier nodded slowly, watching Geralt with a soft, sad smile. “Okay.” He agreed gently. “I can open up about my past.” He said, though the unspoken request hung between them. That Jaskier would also like to learn about Geralt’s past. 

Geralt very slowly looked up at his bard. “Okay. I’m listening.”

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda wanna add more? But I told myself that this was a one shot, and that I shouldn't get attached.


End file.
